


I WILL WAIT FOR YOU

by sunshineandsnow (orphan_account)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, Bucky and Wanda are engaged, Character Death(s), F/M, Hydra, Past!au, Post-War, WWII, engagement!au, if Wanda was alive in the 30s
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-31 00:30:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8555602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/sunshineandsnow
Summary: AU: The year is 1937, and James Buchanan Barnes has been drafted into the army. His fiancée, Wanda Maximoff, is devastated by the news, but promises to wait for Bucky to return.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nevrmoravnO26](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevrmoravnO26/gifts).



> This was originally a one-shot but the story idea has really expanded and I wanted to add more anyways. x) This is very much AU, inspired by [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9wMFzmTBcx4) video. Please check it out! :)

Bucky walks up to the front door, the envelope in his breast pocket seeming to burn a hole into his chest. He runs a hand through his dark hair, hoping the barber has done his job with an even cut. Taking a deep breath, Bucky knocks three times on the screen door.

There is a rustle of movement from inside; a bit of laughter and conversation leaking out to the front porch. The door swings open, and as soon as Bucky sees his fiancée's smiling face, the anxiety he's felt up to this moment melts away.

"Bucky," Wanda exclaims, throwing her arms around the taller man's neck. He pulls her flush against him, one hand on the small of her back, the other tangled in her long, brown hair.

"What a pleasant surprise," Wanda trills, grinning as she pulls back, so she and Bucky are face-to-face. "Are you staying for dinner? Pietro made _shchi_ ," she says with a smirk. "I know you don't like it, but that is what's on the menu."

Bucky's smile falters. "Actually, darling, I was hoping we could talk."

Wanda's brows draw together in concern, but she nods. "Just let me grab a jacket, and we can go for a walk." She disappears into the house for a minute or so, returning with a thick, reddish cardigan over her shoulders, bringing out the flush in her cheeks. She smiles reassuringly at him, before taking his arm, leaning into him as they walk down the street.

"How's the family?" he asks casually, and she shrugs her shoulders.

"As good as they can be. Papa's still looking for work; Mama's selling those ugly chicken-feed dresses again," she informs him, with a half-hearted laugh. "Pietro and I, we're bringing in most of the money, though, god knows, it isn't enough." Wanda shakes her head, a small frown on her face. "I'm sorry—I don't know why I always start talking about money when people ask how we're doing."

"Don't apologize," Bucky replies, soothingly. "I think everyone's like that, nowadays. They say the war's making a difference. But, you know how that is."

They walk in silence for a bit, enjoying the evening air and each other's company.

"What did you want to talk about?" Wanda asks, her voice soft and at ease.

Bucky gulps, feeling guilty for what he's about to tell her, sure to ruin the peaceful mood. He slows his pace until the both of them come to a full-stop. Slowly, he pulls the envelope out of his front pocket, handing the papers over to Wanda. Her brows raise quizzically before she begins reading through the pages of block-letter type.

Her lips begin to quiver and Bucky's heart lurches, an ache forming in his chest at the expression of pain painting her face. "No... no," she mumbles, only for her shaking hand to cover her mouth, muffling her cries of disbelief.

He pulls her into his arms, crushing the official documents between them, but Bucky doesn't care. He holds her tightly, rubbing her back in a gesture of comfort, though he knows nothing can heal the burn of the news he handed to her.

"James," she says suddenly, "James, you can't go! Please, Мой дорогой, you can't leave..." He can see the panic in her eyes, how her body trembles against him, and, _oh_ , he never, ever wants to leave her, not ever.

"I have to, Wanda," he insists, his hands cupping the sides of her face, fingers weaving through her curls. "You know I have to, darling. I love you." He kisses her forehead, squeezing his eyes shut, desperate to hold back the tears. Her small hands curl around his wrists as he repeats the three-word phrase against her cool skin.

"Please, Bucky, I don't want you to go," she whimpers. " _It's the War_. What if you don't come back? Oh, god, I couldn't bear..."

He shakes his head. "You can't think like that, Wanda. Okay? Look," he says, softly, retrieving the crumpled pages and smoothing them out. "I'm going to pick up my uniform tomorrow. You always said I'd look good in a uniform," he reminds her, forcing a smile. Her laugh is strangled with tears, but she laughs, because she knows that's what he needs from her. "I'm shipping out to London," he continues, "and who can say where we'll go from there, eh? I'll send you a letter every day, darling. Maybe I'll send some pictures; you won't catch me making those stern, military expressions, right?" She can't help but laugh, then, imagining his boyish smile framed by grim soldiers.

Before she can start crying again, she wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him in for another hug. "This isn't goodbye, Wanda," he whispers. She just holds him tighter, wanting to believe so badly.

"I'll wait for you," she promises.

Bucky swears he can feel both of their hearts breaking.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve takes it upon himself to bring Wanda the bad news. Her reaction is less than pleasant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm crying.

A stranger passing by might find it odd to see a tall, blond man in uniform seated in the middle of a bar, one that’s been blown to shambles. Then again, this is war-time. Anyone passing should know that odd is becoming commonplace.

Steve considers leaving, stomping away from that wreck of timbers and old memories, escaping. He would run to some far-off land, one where there was no such thing as war and fallen comrades… But, he wasn’t made for cowardice. He remains where he is, pouring down glass after glass of a tasteless liquid that does nothing to numb his flurried thoughts.

He’s interrupted by Agent Carter—Peggy, a light in his suffocating darkness, so unfamiliar to his heart—she brings some comfort, a pretty face and stern words that feel softer than she’d like to admit. The ache doesn’t leave, but it is less pressing with her around, offering sympathy and reason to his mind, muddled with grief. He has to move forward; has to honor Bucky’s memory to the best of his ability. But there’s something he’ll have to do first.

“I’m taking the first flight to New York,” he says simply. “Barnes’ fiancée deserves more than the government’s condolences.” Peggy swallows her surprise and nods, touching his sleeve. “Hurry back,” she whispers, an echo of a smile on her mouth. He wants to kiss her, then, to give an apology of some sort. But she shakes her head as if hearing his thoughts, and he leaves without another word.

* * *

Wanda is in the kitchen, washing dishes, when the doorbell rings. Bright, golden sunlight streams into the entryway as Wanda opens the door, her hazel eyes squinting against the glare. The visitor is a man, more than a head taller than her, with wide shoulders. He wears a military uniform, a dark-brown jacket heavy with pinned-on medals. 

“Yes," she asks strongly, not about to let this stranger sense her apprehension. The man shifts his stance so she can better make out his features. There is something eerily familiar about his bluish-green eyes. "Steve," she mumbles, in disbelief. "Steve Rogers?”

The man, Steve - she does not recognize him, this towering golden statue - nods his head, summoning a tentative smile. “That’s me,” he affirms, and she shakes her head, half-laughing. 

“It can’t be! I’ve seen you in the papers," she comments, crossing her arms in a more relaxed posture. "Captain America, they’re calling you! To think we were all kids together not that long ago." She looks him up and down, trying to reconcile the image of this iconic figure to the skinny kid she knew in grade school. "I don’t think I’ll get used to you, like this.”

He chuckles. “I’m getting used to it, myself. It’s been a while, Wanda.” There's a hint of nostalgia in his voice, a sound that reminds Wanda of days long-passed, days she doesn't know how to revisit, anymore. 

“I’m surprised you remember me," she admits, flashing him a friendly smile. "Would you like to come in?”

“Please.” She props the door open with one hand and follows him inside, latching only the screen door to allow in some of the fresh summer air.  

“Bucky mentions you in almost every letter," she says, returning to the kitchen sink and hanging up a ragged dishtowel. With a smile at Steve, she continues: "He’s very proud of you, y’know. Everything the lot of you are doing, over there."

She does not see the grief flashing through his eyes. A stab of intense longing pierces his gut, forcing him to take a seat at the small breakfast table. He straightens up in his chair, determined to keep a stoic expression. Wanda is oblivious, the glint of a kettle on the stovetop catching her eye. "Would you like some tea?" she asks, genially, leaning against the kitchen counter. "It’s cold now, but give me a minute, I can heat some up.”

“Actually, Wanda…" He does not know how, or where, to begin. She looks relaxed, auburn curls done up in a pinned but messy style. Her hands rest on her red apron, faded from probable years of use, water stains adorning the sides. She is outlined by the sunlight from the kitchen window--it reminds Steve of all the times Bucky would brag, saying how Wanda was the one, _an angel on earth_ , crowing about how much he loved her. The memories hit Rogers with a ruthless clarity. It feels so _wrong_ , to show up at her door and barrage her existence with such news...  

"I didn’t come to catch up," he states, no gentleness in his broken voice. "There’s… something you need to know. You’re going to want to sit down.”

Her expression shifts, collapses, a bit. A vague idea of what he might have to say flits through her mind, but she shoves the thought away. Still, the notion nags at her, and for a moment she considers... _He's dead. He's gone. That's what he's come to tell you. Bucky is..._  

“No, no," she insists, trying to maintain a calm, measured tone. The voice in her head quiets, but is not silenced. "Sitting doesn’t do any good," she says, shaking her head and moving restlessly across the room. "Ever since my parents passed, Pietro and I have been handling things on our own—taking care of the house, making dinner, selling what we can. There’s no time for sitting down, you see.” Her hands shake, so she clamps them behind her back. 

“I’m sorry," Steve mutters, thinking of Wanda making a living on her own. The War was helping the economy, and slowly, America was recovering from the Depression, but it was still struggle. Living was a struggle. "Where’s your brother?” he asks, gently, not really caring about the answer, only hoping to buy some time. 

“Working," she replies, bluntly. "He’ll be back soon.”

Steve sees the terror on her face, the tears brimming in her eyes. “Wanda,” he whispers, feeling his own grief spring up again. She shakes her head again, sensing his next declaration the way a sailor feels the coming storm.  

“No, please, don’t," she says suddenly, holding up one hand, as if the gesture alone will stop him. "Don’t say what I think you’re about to.” 

He clenches his jaw, struggling to keep from breaking down. He stands, wincing at the scrape of the chair legs on the floor, such a rude, unwelcome disturbance in the quiet of her home. He does not belong here. But he must. But he must.

He pulls a creased envelope from his jacket pocket, extending the letter to Wanda. She blinks, as if it is a foreign object, before taking it from his grasp.  

“I came because I didn’t want you to read this alone," he says, voice harsh but laced with sadness. "It’ll do the talking for me.”

Her breath is caught in her throat and she feels weighed down as her hands open the letter. Official, block-print words blare their message. Her hands tremble. Her lips tremble. Tears dance in her red-rimmed eyes. Staring eyes that find his. Eyes that make his heart shatter.  

“What right do you have?" she asks, her voice dangerously low. "Prancing in here, bearing your bad news like a medal of honor." She spits the words at him, tossing the letter aside as though it burns her fingertips. "He was there longer; he fought longer. Where were you when those Nazi bastards took him?" He flinches under her  voice. "You think because you _rescued_ him that makes you better than him! Well, you’re not," she shouts, tears staining her cheeks. "You’re not any better than him!”

Anger swirls with regret and grief in his muddled mind. He does not yell, but his words are cutting and cold. “I was there when he fell, Wanda. I was there. I watched him… I would’ve done anything to save him. He was my _best friend_. So damn you if you think I wouldn’t have died in his place.” 

They are both shaking with the truth, breaking with the knowledge of reality. Death ties them, unties them, unravels them. She is too stubborn to let him console her; he would not know how to. He feels something precious slipping through his fingers, feels the guilt already gnawing at his heart. But it is too late to turn back, now.  

“Get out," she says. "Get out of my house.” Her fists clench, nails digging into her palms. A wild look comes into her eyes and he is afraid, afraid of what he has done to her. 

“There’s no body to send over," he blurts, already backing away, closer to the door.  _She doesn't deserve this. She doesn't deserve any of this. But he can't stop._  "They’ll give you a folded up flag and one more letter of condolences. His name is going to go into some file and they’ll forget you ever existed.” 

“I said _get out,_ ” she screams, and he pushes himself out the door, cursing the War, cursing the Nazis, cursing Wanda and her open heart, cursing Bucky for dying and leaving, leaving Steve to try and go on without him. He runs from Wanda's door. Runs from a fight, for the first time. He is so tired of fighting. Tired of losing.

* * *

Wanda breaks and breaks and breaks and on the cold, kitchen floor she cries herself to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Message my [tumblr](http://winterxblood.tumblr.com/ask)!

**Author's Note:**

> Message my [tumblr](http://winterxblood.tumblr.com/)!


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